The Epilogue
by Represent
Summary: Upon returning to Germany, Edward finds himself charged for the murders of Alfons Heidrich and thirty others. After hearing his alibi he is sent to the psyche ward and has to convince Roy Fischer that he's telling the truth, before his execution.-A!RoyEd
1. Chapter 1

**The Epilogue**

_Represent_

_Full Summary_: Upon returning to Germany, Edward find himself charged for the murders of Alfons Heidrich and over thirty other Nazis including Dietlinde Eckart. He is quickly moved to the psychiatric ward of the prison upon giving his alibi and finds himself trying to get his doctor, Roy Fischer, to believe him before he is sent to trial and - more than likely - executed.

_Warning_: Alter!RoyEd, and hints of past HeidEd. Language, and darker themes.

_Author's Note_: This is an alternate ending in which Edward has come back, like he planned, by himself and is stuck alone on the other side of the Gate without his brother. It picks up a little after he has come back.

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_"Some struggles are so solitary that they drown in words." - Anonymous_

* * *

_I have never seen someone so convinced by his own mind. He is exceptionally genuine in his ideas about this other world and his innocence of what he has been accused of. Sometimes I find myself falling for it, before realizing later how ridiculous parts of his story sounded. He's already been through drug screening, came back clean. I had hoped he was on something that might explain his convictions because I have to admit that I've never faced someone so …_

"Is that a biography?"

My eyes flicked up and I glanced at him, his eyes were unnatural. I had gotten over the shock that they were gold after maybe a few minutes when I had first gotten his file, but when they were actually looking at me and there was no trick of a camera lens I always felt off guard. I tried to come up with a word for it. Tawny, unpolished gold, rich honey, but they were all a little off. Not even topaz, topaz was too dark. It was something I had pondered over and never quite could pin it down.

I shifted, shutting the book and placing the pen down on top of it before I addressed him. I took my time.

"No." I answered shortly, wondering how long he had been awake and I hadn't known it. His face was arranged in something that I could never figure out - which, for me was frustrating. I prided myself in plucking out human emotions at the snap of a finger and my ability to maneuver and manipulate to get my patients 'better'. Or feeling like they were better. He was a different case, because he wasn't unsure of himself. He was absolutely sure that he was innocent, and that he did not have delusions.

He was a pretty big puzzle as it was. He claimed his name was Edward Elric in his statement, that he had been living here in Munich for two years with his father who, like him, didn't exist. At least not in records. He had no ID, no proof of citizenship, and no paperwork at all.

"Well what is it?" He asked after a moment.

"Its my medical journal."

"Oh." He fell silent for a long moment. He looked..

"You look like you haven't been sleeping well." I observed, feeling stupid even as I said it. Of course he wouldn't have been sleeping well. His ankle was chained to the bed and he had been forced in an orange jumpsuit. He was only allowed to shower once every week - which he had complained about loudly to me the first time we had met - and his wrists were handcuffed together. Not to mention all that but he was being accused of killing a multitude of people - and he was probably dead. The court system in Germany was hardly fair and this whole war was making everyone on edge.

He gave me a pointed look, eyes tarnished and strained, despite their intelligence and his face was drawn.

He rubbed his hands together and I made a little tally in the corner of the journal. I had started noticing each time he did that - thinking it must be some sort of nervous tick. He did it at least five times an hour.

"Would you?"

"No." I admitted.

I sighed, leaning forward a bit to get more comfortable in this chair as I pulled out my notes and his file and I glanced through everything for what felt like the upteenth time.

"So, Edward. Have you changed your story yet?" I asked him. He sent me a look of, what I could only call betrayal, and I was unaffected. I didn't know why he looked at me like he did half the time and whenever I questioned him about it he clammed up and threw terrible language and obscenities at me.

"I already told you my story." He sighed, teeth gritting.

"Yes, I mean the actual story."

"You fucker." He hissed, eyes tearing off my face as he rubbed his hands together, not nervous, more upset and.. Trapped. I made a tally mark.

"I'm taking that as a no." I sighed.

He gave a low growl and blew a bit of his hair out of his face. It was down past his upper back. He had a remarkable amount of hair and we couldn't allow hair bands around him. He had already almost incapacitated one of the policemen on his capture. At least, you know, I heard. Edward refused to look at me anymore and his back was stiff like a cornered animal.

"You know the drill." I told him after a long moment and I shuffled the paper for a moment before I glanced back up and saw his lips tight and drawn.

"Edward?" I prompted.

"I don't get why I have to keep doing this." He gritted, "Or why you write it down every time. Are you trying to make me crazy or something in here? Because I swear - this is the craziest I've ever been in my entire life and I'm going to be blowing spit bubbles in a few months at this rate."

I ignored him, he always complained about this.

"Just do it, Edward."

"Why?" A challenge.

I paused, putting my pen down and glancing up at him in surprise. He usually fought me on everything, but never on this. He always had told me his alibi like he was trying to prove himself to me, trying to sell it with every word of his being so that I'd believe him this time, or the next day, or the next day. He had already been in a cell for over three months, it hadn't been until a few weeks ago that they had sent him here. Despite the fact that he didn't get daily beatings in the Ward, he insisted prison smelt better and was better for his sanity.

"Because, Edward. I look for any changes in your story every day to see if I can figure out why you are lying, or why you believe you are right. Perhaps then I can figure out how to start trying to get you better." I sighed.

"I am not _sick_!" He insisted and I had known that I probably should have refused to tell him because he was suddenly bristling and defensive and angry. So very angry. I had realized already that his natural instincts to frustration was to lash out. "My story never changes because it's _true_!"

"You know as well as I do how ridiculous you sound."

"Yes! But that doesn't mean I'm wrong!" Edward hissed.

"Yes it does, since it is physically impossible for you to leave one dimension and go into another."

"Do you believe in aliens?"

"No."

"Do you believe in space?"

"Of course." I knew where he was going with this, but decided to let him continue on.

"Well, how can you not believe in aliens if you believe in space?" He asked, "How can you _know_?"

"My belief in aliens has nothing to do with your claim that you are one." I told him calmly, jotting a few notes. He bared his teeth at me and then looked like he wanted to rip the paper from my hands. He had already told me he hated to be written about and not know what I was saying. I could have said he had a dash of schizophrenia, but I was paranoid as well. This whole country and war made you paranoid that you were going to get slandered. All someone had to do was level a assumption about your lifestyle and I would be in the same boat as him.

"Besides, the prosecution has leveled some pretty strong evidence that you killed those people." I continued.

"Do you think I killed him?"

Who? There were many 'hims'.

"Alfons." He whispered. I was taken off guard for a moment that he had singled one victim out and seemed extremely torn up about being accused of shooting him. To be quite honest the whole thing looked like some sort of satanic ritual gone horribly wrong, and so when there had been reports of flashing lights and loud bangs and the police had shown up - seeing Edward sitting there among the bodies there had been no question it was all his fault.

I wondered why, after being questioned endlessly for months, he always got so upset at the thought of Heidrich's death while he seemed aloof about the others. It wasn't my job to be the investigator, however, but I could tell he was attached in some way to the man. And when his voice whispered like that there was no choice but to believe he was telling the truth.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose for a long moment, giving a sigh.

"No." I told him. I didn't think he killed Alfons Heidrich, "Not intentionally." I added.

He didn't like that, but accepted it for the time being as improvement since the first day we had met I was convinced he had killed everyone out of cold-blood. It was impossible to think that when you saw him like this, slumped and beaten. You got lulled into thinking he was powerless until he gave you a glare that stole your breath away or did something so intelligent and cunning that you were forced to reevaluate him.

He was certainly not docile.

"Well I didn't." He grumped, "And I don't want to tell you my god damn alibi again. It's like you have short term memory or something."

"You have to, Edward. If you don't…" My eyes flicked towards the little video camera in the corner of his room and Edward read what would happen to him if he didn't cooperate. He didn't seem happy about it, but knew that he'd end up either back in the prison or beat up, or worse.

"Fine." He gritted. "This must get boring for you."

"You never bore me." I told him lightly.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Perceptive."

"Fuck you, bastard."

"Continue, Edward." I sighed, hating how he somehow managed for us to talk for hours and never get anywhere. It was a talent or something. He was good at distracting me.

"Fine, old man." There was a certain fondness in there that sounded like he was remembering something, but I was unsure of what and he shifted, getting comfortable before he started again. Almost word for word he recited what he had told me yesterday. Hardly anything had changed.

"I was used by the Thule society." He started, "I didn't know it at the time. Well, I knew it, but I didn't know what they were up to. I'm not from here at all, I'm from a country called Amestris. I'm not sure exactly how this world connects to my home other than maybe through a different dimension. You can't see it or get to it easily. The Thule society was convinced they could get to it and used my father and me to get there." He took a breath, "I've been here for some time, trying to get back home. When the deaths happened I was through the Gate, home, and when I came back they were all dead."

"Why did you come back?" I asked him.

"Because I had something I had to do here. I had to make sure that the two words never connected again." He told me, and he should sound like a nutcase, but he didn't.

"And how were you planning on doing that?" I humored him. It was farther than I had ever questioned him before, because before I must have had a skeptical face because he would always get pissed off and refuse to answer after a while, feeling stupid and childish.

"I had to break the seal."

I tried not to appear calm and collected, but he could read the lines on my face as if he'd known me for years.

"Its not some sort of fucking _ritual _you asshole." He hissed, and if he could cross his arms he could, instead he rubbed his palms together and I made a small tally mark. "What are you doing?" He snapped.

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed like observant daggers and I tried to regain control of the conversation.

"Alright, Edward. So, if you had to get back from this other world, and come here to break the seal so that the worlds couldn't collide again… Then explain something that's been puzzling me this whole time - how come you survived and the others did not? You keep telling me they died because of the pressure of going through dimensions, but how come you didn't get crushed as well?"

He was silent.

"The Gate.." He mumbled, "Doesn't always make sense why it does things. Perhaps its because I'm from a world where I can withstand it."

"Are you suggesting you're genetically superior?"

"Isn't that what _you all_ are fighting over?" He shot back instantly.

"Touche." I said.

"There isn't anything I can say to make you believe me." He stated and it was more to himself. He sounded suddenly so distraught that I felt for him and my heart tugged a bit as he pulled back on the bed as far as he was allowed and despite the loud orange he looked small and tiny and vulnerable. I reminded myself that he was charged for the murder of over thirty people to keep myself from patting him on the back or something. He could bite my hand off. He wasn't mentally stable. Obviously. He was rambling about some other world.

I watched as his mood plummeted and I tried to figure out a way to get him to talk to me again before he withdrew away from me completely and I would be forced to end the session early.

"Tell me about your world." I said.

His head shot up and he looked like I was trying to trick him. He had never been asked that question while he had been here.

"Why?" He breathed.

I shrugged.

"Medical purposes only." _Because I'm sick of watching you suffer like that and I'm a little interested._

He didn't like that answer, but I knew if I told him my true reasoning for getting him to spill he would be even more upset. I watched the arch of his back relax a bit after a moment and I knew I was going to get more out of him this time than before and he opened his lips - they probably had been bright red before the white lights in here had sapped them - and he started to speak.

"Its much more colorful." He started. "You can't even imagine." He tossed his hair a bit, looking at it dully and he frowned. "My hair's a different color." He told me.

His fingers rested on the cold bit of the bed.

I couldn't think of a way to reply to that so I made a noise in the back of my throat for him to continue.

"There are still wars, like here. And there are people there, just like here, and they make mistakes just like people do here.."

I didn't tell him he sounded like he was writing a fantasy novel.

He trailed off after a moment I didn't try to make him talk again, I could tell he was reminiscing on something and it was personal. His eyes grew hazy and he looked at his prosthetic hand and I knew by then he was too far deep in his own thoughts for me to follow. He moved away from the edge of the bed and there was a scraping noise of the plastic on his fake hand running along the steel.

I paused, watching.

"I'll be back in a few days, Edward."

He didn't seem to have heard me.

I sighed a bit and I put my stuff back into my bag. I paused for a moment, watching as his cheek connected with the pillow softly and the torment in his eyes and I reached out with a hand, resting it in the top of his hair, feeling the slightly greasy but soft strands. His eyes flew open again and he was staring at me in shock, but didn't try to move as I comforted him a bit.

"Did you hear me?" I asked him, "I said I'll be back in a few days."

He didn't move.

"I don't think you are heartless." I told him softly and I watched as his face almost crumpled. I smiled at him, not knowing why me smiling made him so distraught. He didn't reply after a few seconds and I knew he wasn't going to reply period, pulling back from him.

I grabbed my things and I put them underneath my arm before I grabbed my heavy coat off of the chair. When I stood close to the door I knocked and the guards started flipping the locks off of the outside. It was only when my hand was on the doorknob that he shifted and I looked back, seeing him leaning on his side and staring at me through clear striking eyes.

"Thank you." He gritted out as if he was cursing me. I wondered if he had ever thanked someone before.

"Don't thank me yet, Elric." I told him dryly, "Just because I don't think you're a psychotic murderer doesn't mean I don't think you're mentally ill, or a murderer."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Edward groused.

"No, they are very different." I told him, and he frowned at me making his nose wrinkle a bit and he mulled that over, flopping on his other side and giving me his very silent back. I moved out of the door and glanced at the guards before going to make my rounds.

The kid himself was interesting. The only bits of information were things that he insisted were true about himself. Having no other name to go off of we had all settled that Edward Elric was his name, and that he was twenty. It was a shame, really. Because there were plenty of people in the country that were killed everyday for crimes a lot pettier than the one he had been accused of. The murder of Eckart was not taken lightly. Not to mention the fact that he had no alibi for the night other than his made up stories about this other world.

And so, I was quite certain he would be executed. He knew that too, I was sure. He would shake sometimes when he thought by himself for too long as if he was realizing, over and over, how he was a dead man. But, usually after this he would resolve himself in a way that I had never seen someone do before and he would become determined. I didn't know what he was determined to do, maybe escape, maybe live. Either way it was humbling to watch.

I glanced at the tally in the corner that had grown by three during that little talk.

I was compelled to help him in a way that was different than any other patient. There was something about him, maybe his spunk and his vivacious spirit that had me wanting to help him - or the open honesty with which he carried himself. I had never been a fan of what this country had been doing and he felt like yet another victim in the grand scheme of things.

There was no question he was remorseful about Alfons Heidrich.

And you couldn't feel that much for someone if you were the cold-hearted killer they accused him of being.

I rubbed my temples a bit. It was a confusing case that was only made more confusing by the fact that he was so god damn easy to talk to and relate to, different from my usual subjects that would mumble nonsense.

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I need feedback. Review opinions, please.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Epilogue**

_Represent_

_Author's Note_: Thank you so much for the reviews guys! I'm glad that Edward and Roy seem to be in character. I'll hopefully keep it that way. And I'm sorry, Suzuku, but there won't be any contact with Amestris. I hope that doesn't make you stop reading this, haha.

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_"The main symptom of a psychiatric case is that the person is perfectly unaware that he is a psychiatric case."__ - Anonymous_

* * *

I was marking another tally at the corner of my page.

His palms grated, more intense than before. I think the longer he was locked up the more and more agitated he became. I had asked him why that was and he had nearly chewed my head off by telling me that he was - for all he knew - sitting around waiting to get killed. I hadn't disagreed with him, but I had told him what stress would do to someone.

"And you don't want your hair to fall out." I had told him. I didn't really want his hair to fall out either, as it were, so the less he stressed out the happier we both were.

He was chewing his lip a bit as I reached out and took my seat.

"How are you today, Edward?" I asked him as pleasantly as possible. I had spent the last two days rooting around to find out more on Alfons Heidrich. There hadn't been much but at least the kid had existed. Something about rockets. There were holes though, which made me suspicious. There were a lot of holes when it came to Edward's story which - was to be expected - but the things that were concrete, like Alfons Heidrich, I hadn't thought I'd hit roadblocks.

Not that researching my subject's was any of my business or normal procedure. In fact, the last time I had taken an active interest in one of my patient's cases had been five years ago. And I had gotten my hands slapped for it.

I was pondering over this as Edward seemed to reanimate when my chair squeaked a bit.

"Fuck off." Edward replied tiredly.

Ah, so it was one of _those_ days.

"Did you do that to your lip?" I asked, noticing the blood mark there, before I started to realize that he had the workings of a black eye. His head twitched a bit to the side and I felt a chill sweep through me. Had someone punched him while I had been gone? I had only been gone two days.

Not that that was uncommon.

And rationally I knew this shouldn't upset me. Elric had been handled much rougher in the hands of the police and in prison than here, but the fact that he had gotten the brunt of something made sympathy pour out of me before I could stop it. For some reason I started to feel like it was my job to protect him - be that from himself or from the guards that were posted at his door.

I pointedly ignored the fact that Edward was charged for over thirty counts of murder and that perhaps he deserved it. The fact was that he did not match up with any of the profiles for a cold-hearted serial killer and I was discarding that part of their accusations little by little. Even if he had killed all those people, he didn't view killing as fun or shrug off death. In fact he was capable of remorse. Which flipped all my profiles on their end.

"Did one of the guards hit you?" I asked.

"Yes." He replied dryly, his tone one of finality. I could tell he didn't want to talk about it.

"How come?" I asked, unwilling to let it rest and he shrugged his shoulders and I knew that the punch had come provoked. Edward wasn't nearly as angry as he would be if he hadn't deserved it in some form or another. But then, I started realizing that maybe he_ did_ think he deserved all this treatment despite not verbally attacking one of the guards. Even the prospect of his own death wasn't as upsetting to him as it should be.

I knew it all had to do with his story - of which he had yet to disclose to me, and Alfons Heidrich.

"No matter what you have done, it isn't up to the police and the guards to pass judgment." I told him.

He rubbed his hands together as if that would save him and I took the tally before I watched his eyes darken and he turned his head away from me. So he was dismissing me as well? He didn't believe me when I told him I wasn't okay with his harsh treatment. Not at all.

"Yeah?" He finally stated, "The bastards wouldn't be trying to rough me up if I wasn't chained to this thing."

The venom in his voice wavered and I knew why he hated being tied up in this place. I was just starting to see what kind of hell being an accused psychopathic murderer was when you were placed in the hands of the corrupt law enforcement. I realized that he wasn't used to feeling defenseless, that he always had had something up his sleeve that kept him having some kind of control over his fate. The realization that he was completely vulnerable was killing him and he hated to cooperate.

"Yes well." I sighed, knowing I couldn't do much about it as it was either. I was just a doctor. "Perhaps you should stop verbally insulting them and they'd be less likely to impose justice."

He spat a few swear words at me but he slumped and I knew I was right. He _had_ been provoking them. I didn't know what he thought he could accomplish by doing that besides getting roughed up a bit. Apparently he had felt like it got him somewhere, despite the fact that he seemed in a darker mood than normal.

"Did they hit you anywhere else?" I asked, wondering if it was just that shiner and the split lip or if there was more.

He shook his head tightly after a moment, I knew he was telling me the truth.

"Alright." I sighed, believing him, "I don't want to hear about you dying from internal bleeding or something later."

He snorted dryly. He was not in a very talkative mood today. I watched dully as he paused, and suddenly his muscles tensed and right before my eyes he grew slinky and like a cat, he spun around and his eyes narrowed at me. He leaned in closer, as close as he could, until the chain's snapped and he …sniffed.

"You smoke?"

Wow. He had an amazing sense of smell, apparently.

"Yes." I answered simply, not sure how we had gotten to talking about me again, because I was getting tired of how he only seemed interested in _my_ life and side-stepped all my attempts to get him to talk about his own.

Apparently that had been the wrong answer because he was laughing. I had never heard him laugh before, so I was slightly shocked as he belted it out and he didn't hold anything back.

"Oh _shit!_" He managed in between chuckles, "That's good."

This was positively the strangest reaction I had ever seen and it made my stomach kind of drop because I knew that perhaps this was a sign that he really _was_ insane and was just extremely talented at hiding it. I marked the incident on my papers for a few seconds as he laughed quietly to himself, eyes tearing up as he watched the ceiling.

I sighed then, putting down the pencil and I glanced at him.

"Why is it so funny that I smoke?" I asked him.

He started to laugh again, like a kid or something. It made me purse my lips in irritation. I was not used to being laughed at so much. This expression apparently only heightened the hilarity of the situation because he didn't stop for another minute.

"Alright." I stated dryly, "I'm clearly missing the joke."

And then he was so sad that I thought perhaps I had ripped his heart out. He wasn't crying or anything but there was such a depressive haze it was almost like a mist had descended on him and left him heavy and unresponsive.

"Are you going to explain?" I asked him.

"You'll think I'm even more crazy than I already am." He told me quietly, no longer smiling.

"That will be quite a feat, Edward." I told him with a smirk.

He leveled a glare at me and there was no question he was lucid.

"You just remind me of someone." He said.

Oh. I wasn't sure how to take that so I was silent for a moment in contemplation. I could see that it was more than a petty resemblance by the way he was looking at me, by the way he had laughed when I had told him I smoked.

"Someone from your world?" I questioned, a little curious.

"Yes."

"Mustang?"

He had called me that the first time we had met and then had blushed when I had told him that that wasn't my name at all and had apologized.

"Yeah." He managed, voice tight.

I wondered what this Mustang person was like, what he had done, how he was related to Edward. I could tell that I'd already gotten a lot of information out of Edward that he hadn't been planning on sharing today. There was a certain stance he had when he was not going to budge and we had almost reached it.

It was good, considering I hadn't expected to get anything out of him at all when I had seen him all hunched over.

I sighed, getting up and setting my stuff down before I grabbed a few of the medical supplies by the cabinet and made my way closer to him.

"Alright, scoot a bit closer, please." I told him.

He frowned and glanced at me before obeying.

I snapped on my rubber gloves and he winced a bit out the harsh sound of them before I grabbed the alcohol and I looked over his face. It wasn't too bad, but I had a feeling it would be more colorful and apparent tomorrow. It was obviously tender too by the way his face was tight. I wondered how much it had hurt for him to laugh.

He started rubbing his hands and I had to make a mental note to tally the page since my stuff was still sitting on my chair.

His bed was cold. I realized that as soon as I had leaned against the railing and I frowned a bit, feeling his hand to take his pulse. It was freezing as well.

"Are you always this cold?" I asked.

"Generally." He shrugged, "This bed is all metal and the sheets are thin."

His heart was beating really fast.

"Are you nervous?" I asked.

"No." He snapped.

"Why?"

"I said I'm NOT." He hissed, yanking his hand back out of mine. Alright, then. I reached forward and grabbed his chin, a bit more rough and pressed the alcohol against the split lip and the small nick that was right underneath his swollen eye. I expected some kind of tantrum but he was silent and tensed instead, fist clenching.

"Don't you dare." I told him, before he could even think of punching me, "If you do that you're going to be executed in two seconds. God, you baby."

"I am not."

"Shut up, and stop moving." I felt a little ridiculous, almost like being around him brought out the worst in me or something as I started to bandage up his cut and rub the salve over the deep bruises.

"There." I sighed, "Now let me do the check up."

His jaw line was taut as I lifted up his shirt and ordered him to breath deeply. His heart was still pounding violently in his chest and it surprised me that mine was racing as well. Maybe not as fast, but it was getting there. I frowned to myself. I didn't really need to do a full physical check up on him each time, but I wanted to make sure he had no broken ribs or something. Despite the fact that I was pretty sure he had told me the truth, trying to explain why my patient keeled over and died before his court date would be a headache.

There were no bruises that I could see so I pulled back and pushed his shirt back down.

And then, just because I could, I checked his temperature and the rest of his vitals as well as his blood pressure - which was high of course. And his eyesight and everything else I could think of because it was fun to make him squirm and get all pissy.

"Is this all really _necessary_?" He hissed at me as I poked into his ear.

"No." I told him.

We descended into silence as I finished up and I pulled back, poking his face a bit more to make sure the bones weren't broken and was content. He winced here and there and was in full pout mode when I was done.

"Now all that's left is to get your blood drawn and checked." I murmured, my back to him, and I couldn't help but let a smirk cross my lips as I rubbed my stethoscope and could almost _feel _the anger rolling off him in waves at the thought of getting a needle poked in him.

"No." He flat out refused.

"Well, we're going to have to do it sometime." I told him rationally, "The nurses didn't do it to you when you first came in because you threatened to kill them - which wasn't very smart by the way - and it is standard procedure to put your blood-type on file. Just because you're probably going to be executed doesn't mean that we can't salvage your organs."

I was sure that if looks could kill I would be dead ten times over right now.

"You won't touch me with that needle." He told me. I didn't know it was possible to growl that much when you talked.

I didn't get riled up, I simply sighed and I pulled open his file and put down the numbers that I had taken, his eyesight - which was a little lower on his left side - and his temperature. I knew I'd have to figure out how to get him thicker sheets. Already with two fake limbs he was susceptible to cold and I didn't want him getting some sort of cold or something.

And then I wondered why the hell I cared if the guards smashed his face in, or if he died of pneumonia. Why did I care at all about him? I shouldn't. If anything I should be angry at him and afraid of him, and not.. As sorry for him as I was right now. The sincerity of his actions and his words were enough to strike me off guard and leave me staggering and not quite sure how to act or feel.

"So." I sighed as he had withdrawn into a little fiery ball on the bed, his arms were tucked as much as they could as if that would stop me if I decided to do the blood work today. There was no way I was going to with his heart pumping as fast as it was right now.

"You have to tell me what Alfons Heidrich was to you and who this Mustang person is." I told him, sitting back down.

"Oh, I do?" He asked me with a snarky rebellious sneer.

I somehow found it endearing instead of annoying. Well, a little bit of both maybe, but not so much that I was angry. I instead made the tally mark for when I had been taking his blood pressure and I leaned back on the chair, listening to it squeak sadly.

"Was Heidrich a close friend?" I asked.

"Yes." He admitted.

I knew that there had to be more to that. He had never admitted anything so easily. My eyes narrowed a bit.

"Was he a relative?"

"No." The word flew out of his mouth so fast and suddenly I _knew_ exactly what they were to each other and I had to say that it shocked me. Not only the realization, but the fact that I wasn't nearly as repulsed by it as I should be.

"Oh." I managed out, "So he was.."

His face blanched and I knew I didn't have to spell it out for him and he hissed a bit in pain and I knew suddenly why he had taken Heidrich's death the hardest out of all of them.

I was looking at him in a new light suddenly. I had never met one of them before.

"Don't write that down." He ordered, but I wasn't planning on it.

"Damn." I mumbled, "You must really want to get yourself in trouble." Not only was he doing _that_ with Heidrich, but he had just happened to be in the 'right place at the wrong time' as he put it and was on trial for multiple murders. And, as if that wasn't enough, he had made up some ridiculous story about another world as his alibi.

"Don't look at me like that." He said, and I realized that I was peering at him in a certain way that made him shake and look like he wanted to hide. My face softened instantly.

"I-It wasn't like that. Really." He whispered, obviously this was something that he was not comfortable talking or even thinking about. I wondered if he had just realized his own sexuality or if he had been ignoring it for some time.

"I'm sorry." I told him, not sure what else to say. I felt like I had been saying it more and more to him as of late. Perhaps they hadn't actually done _that_ but he had certainly thought about it and it scared him. Really scared him by the way he was staring at me.

"Oh _God_." He spat out at me, "Stop it!"

I didn't know what he wanted me to stop. Probably stop judging him.

"I can't just stop, Edward. You can't ask me to stop. I'm just surprised is all." My voice was a little tight though, admittedly. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to talk to someone like that. Oh. _Oh_. Suddenly his little hissy fits and his racing heart made so much sense and my eyes widened and I felt like that whole little checkup thing I had done had another meaning now and he caught the look and he blushed.

"Contrary to popular belief," Edward started dryly, "Its not like I'm attracted to _everyone_ and not _everything_ is flirting, you ass."

I relaxed a bit, but couldn't help but be a bit hurt as well.

"I'm not attractive?"

Where had that come from?

He tutted for a moment in his mouth and turned his head to the side, not giving me a yes or no answer and instead pointedly ignoring me. I stared at the bruises along his cheekbone and his swollen eye and suddenly he was a victim more than a murderer. He had started rubbing his hands again. I sighed and made a tally mark and suddenly I realized our whole situation, this whole thing, me and him, it was all different.

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I need feedback. Review opinions, please.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Epilogue**

_Represent_

_Author's Note_: Thank you so much for the reviews! Really! They motivate me more than you will ever know! Uhm, so I'll be probably posting another chapter of _Matchbreaker_ next. I think, but I'm kind of on a roll with this one. I don't know. What do you guys think? Which one do you want updated first? This story or _Matchbreaker_?

And thanks for the sweet reviews, again. C:

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_The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it. -- Anonymous_

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I didn't usually do this. So why I was doing this was beyond me. I could get fired or worse if they found out that I didn't trust them enough to believe that Edward was a murderer. It had started to scare me when I would be sitting there thinking that he was innocent and not even realize it. It's not that I didn't think that he wasn't capable of murdering someone. In fact, I was sure that he had done it before.

He exuded something dangerous. Just in the way that he held himself and the way his muscles would clench or tighten whenever he felt threatened was enough to make me think that his whole life had not been him sitting at a desk doing paperwork or something. He surprised me a lot of the time in how strong he really was when he wanted to be, if he really got a good grip on something.

But again, that alone should convince me that he had killed those people. I should already be perfectly alright with the fact that he would be killed. I would feel some sort of justice in it, and, I should _want_ him to be sentenced. But I didn't.

And as soon as I was over that little fact and had accepted that, no, I did not want Edward killed - and that yes, I believed he was innocent, then I had to face what that made his story. Because if I believed he didn't kill those people that meant that on some level I was believing his story as well.

And I was not delusional.

I think.

I took a drag to calm my nerves down and hunkered back in my coat just in case someone noticed who I was and recognized me. This was a shady part of town - especially since Edward had lived around here with his father - of which there were no records. Whenever someone disappears or is arrested the whole neighborhood goes on lock down, because they might be next. It's like a radar and everyone tries to fly under it. When one person gets attention from the police the whole place automatically assumes the police have been watching them for awhile and they start trying to prove they aren't Jews.

You could smell the tension, feel it, vibrating in the air. No one really looked each other in the eye around these parts. I wondered if there was a time when they used to speak to each other. Instead they viewed everyone else as a potential threat. One mention of bad behavior and they were shipped off.

His flat was across the street. It was under surveillance, there was no doubt in my mind. Which, was why I was perched across the street. I was waiting for someone to exit the building, someone that could tell me about him. About his father - if Edward had been telling the truth and the man had existed before the incident - and about Alfons Heidrich.

Edward had already told me that he had lived with the man. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Or the two of them. Whatever that was. Just as I had been shocked with myself to know that I viewed Edward was incapable of mass murder I was even more taken aback by my own nonchalance to his … tastes. It hadn't really disgusted me. At all. I was more curious than anything. Which was probably stupid since if I dabbled into _that_ I could get shipped off and killed.

He still seemed confused by the idea as much as I was so it wasn't like I could judge him or anything. Not really. I was never a really religious person as it was and I had never really been opposed to the idea. Besides brief mentions I had never really thought about the idea to be quite honest. It wasn't something I pondered over. I had never been confused or uncomfortable about my sexuality.

At least not before I had started to catch myself looking at Edward's body in a less than doctor-ly way.

I tapped the butt of the cigarette with my fingers and I wanted as the door across the street suddenly burst open and I tensed. Perhaps this was the person I'd been waiting to emerge for the past hour or so. I had been circling the block ever few hours. I couldn't hover for very long because people would grow suspicious so I've just been crossing my fingers and hoping that when I happened to take a stroll past someone would choose to leave their flat.

It was a lovely woman with blonde hair. She was having trouble carrying stacks of flowers and I immediately realized she must work in the small business that was connected to the corner of the building.

I pushed myself off the wall as she misjudged the step from the doorstep to the sidewalk and stumbled. The flowers smacked across the ground with a loud crack and she looked like she was going to curse, but refrained from doing so and instead wiped her hair off her face with the back of a dirty hand and gave a gigantic sigh.

She was about to get her bearings prepared to try and lift the box again when I had reached her.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Would you like some help?" I asked her. I had tossed the cigarette along the roadside during my trek over to her.

"Oh yes, please." She replied after a brief moment of looking me up and down. There was an air of suspicion and I knew that she had already been interrogated about Edward. There was no other real reason for her to be so frazzled by my sudden appearance. I realized that my dark coat was a little disarming, but it was the only clean one I had.

I grabbed the box and hooked it under my arm, letting her lead the way around the corner to her shop where I placed it in the back of the display.

"Thank you…?" She trailed off breathlessly.

"Roy." I supplied, "Roy Fischer."

"I'm Gracia." She smiled a very becoming smile. After a quick pat Gracia had dispelled most of the dust off of her dress and clapped her hands in a way that reminded me of Edward before she started to explain with embarrassment about the flowers.

"-and since the heater stopped working I've had to move them back to my flat during the colder nights." She said, "They are from France and can't take extreme temperatures. It's been such a hassle to move them everyday - I hope that the weather evens out in the next few weeks."

We chattered back and forth for a few more minutes before I tried to think of a delicate way to go about asking about Edward and Alfons, and his father.

"I was actually trying to find a friend of mine." I ventured, "But he didn't give me his full address. I know he lives in that building though, perhaps you know him."

"Who?" She asked, glancing up as she packed in more dirt around a rose bush.

"Edward? Edward Elric?"

Gracia's back went stiff and she slammed her palms into the dirt and didn't look at me. There was a resolve in her muscles and I knew that he had been her friend. Or something. No, more than that. She had looked after him, I realized. In a motherly way. There was no other explanation for her sudden protective behavior.

"You know him?" She asked tightly.

"Yeah. He's a friend from way back."

"Well, Edward certainly didn't mention you." She stated bluntly.

"We didn't really.. Part in good terms."

I was pulling shit out of my ass now, hoping that perhaps she'd give in. I hadn't counted on meeting someone willing to put up such a front to keep Edward safe.

"Well, he's not here right now." She said.

"Oh? That's not just some line Edward told you to keep away people he doesn't want to see is it?" I asked her, hoping a bit of light humor would loosen her up. There was a very fond look in her eye when she thought of him, and a lot of sadness.

"No, he hasn't been here in a while." She admitted, and she looked at me hard for a moment, before I saw that she gave in. I apparently didn't seem like a policeman, despite the shady coat.

"No, he's been arrested."

"For what?" I was pretty good at acting absolutely surprised.

"For a crime he did _not_ commit!" She snapped at me, "They say he's killed people. That he killed Alfons - the boy who owns the flat."

"Well how do you know he didn't do it?" I asked.

"Because." Her voice grew softer, "I can tell. He's not a killer."

"Well." I sighed, slumping into the chair, "That's disappointing. I came all the way from across the country to see him."

She made a small noise in the back of her throat and kept making herself busy. After a few minutes of this I tried to poke around a bit more. I was glad that she knew him, because after a few hours of waiting for someone to come out of that building it would have stunk to run into someone that had no clue who he was, much less had no insight into his life or the people in it.

"I was wondering about his father as well." I stated.

"He came past a few months ago." She shrugged, "I think he works down at the University, but I haven't seen him around. He's very.. Elusive." She paused, glancing up at the lights as if thinking about something before turned to me.

"Oh." I stated, "Thanks. I'll take this rose bush."

* * *

"Ah no, the last time I saw him was maybe a week and a half ago."

"So - he was working here for the past month?"

"Yeah, a professor on symbology and folklore."

I felt a grin spread across my face. So Edward had been telling the truth. Well, at least parts of the truth. His father _had_ been alive. There _had _been a person named Von Hohenheim. However, why the police were trying to cover him up and erase him I didn't understand. In fact, I didn't really understand much of the extensive preparations the bureau had taken to ensure that much of Edward's story was censored.

"Thank you, you've been extremely helpful." I told the man, pressing the bill into his hand.

"Wait - there's more." Apparently the money had loosened his tongue a bit because he had leaned in closer until he was barely breathing and he had taken out his toothpick, more serious than before.

"I know that he was involved with some sort of cult. You know - one of those that popped up lately?"

"What sort of cult?" I asked, not liking the sound of it, not liking the idea that Edward had been involved in a cult. Especially not one that involved the Party.

"I can't really say." He frowned, "I tried to stay the hell away from it. Something about you know-"

"What?"

"The race, you know. The Arian race. Something about that."

Great. Now Edward was involved with Nazi's?

"That's all I really know. I know that he was in a big position in the cult. That's it. And hey- if someone asks, I didn't tell you anything. I know nothing about this Hohenheim or his son."

"Got it." I told him, "Don't worry."

As I thanked him again and moved back to the main road to catch the next bus I felt a sense of achievement as well as more questions. That's all I ever seemed to get when it came to Edward. More questions. About his past, about his family. Where was his mother? He never talked about her and he even more rarely talked about his deceased father. In fact, all that I had really learned today was that Edward wasn't lying about having a father. That Hohenheim did exist, and that the police had wiped him off the map as far as legally concerned. I had a feeling it had something to do with his involvement in this cult.

And really, the whole fact that all those people were in that room.. And that weird symbol on the floor. Now everything was starting to make more sense and less sense at the same time.

I didn't know that I was starting to poke my nose into things that I could no longer explain. Things that would get me in very big trouble if I got caught.

I ran a hand through my hair, freeing a few of the strands from where I had gelled them back and I gave a sigh. Perhaps Edward would be more talkative when I got back to the hospital. Perhaps if I told him that I had looked into his father and that I believed that small aspect of his story would make him more willing to give me more about his past, about his mother, about something. Because I knew there was a lot more to him that Alfons Heidrich and this whole affair.

It was strange how I got the distinct feeling that he had started his lift in a fragment. That he had suddenly popped in here and started living without having a past at all. Perhaps that was the reason why I was so draw to trying to figure him out. Maybe that's why I was doing all this, breaking all the rules.

I had spent the ride back thinking up all the questions that I could pester him with and what I could do to make him talk if he ignored them. I wondered what his reaction would be that I had actually gone and talked to Gracia. Perhaps some news of the outside world would cheer him up.

He had gotten awfully dismal as of late.

However, when I entered his room I quickly realized I would not be getting anything out of him. Apparently, without my permission, they had placed him on medication. To say I was furious was an understatement. The nurses told me that they feared he would try to hurt himself, but I knew that was bullshit. Edward was a lot of things, but not suicidal. At least I didn't think. I had never really gotten that vibe.

I scooted the chair closer to him, letting out a soft sigh and I watched him watch the light above his head. The drugs had knocked him out of my realm of conversation. He was quite unable to talk to me about much of anything, much less his father and the cult. Even though I had ordered him off of the mixture of sedatives and anti-depressants it would take a day or so to get him to reemerge.

"Edward." I whispered, watching his filmy eyes roll over to me and I was a bit glad I had gotten his attention at all. His head fell to the side of the pillow as if it was too heavy to stay upright. Like his neck had given out on him and was pliable.

"Roy." He almost giggled. I wouldn't call it a giggle, but it was certainly creepy when it came out of his mouth and completely out of character.

"Am I in trouble?" He whispered.

"No." I told him, "No, you're not." _Yes you are. You are going to trial in less than a month and you are going to be killed. Yes you are in trouble, big trouble._

He snorted.

"Then why are you here?" His words were slurred and his tongue couldn't quite grasp the 'n's. He sounded almost like he had a speech impediment and my heart went out to him. He was almost cute when he was so drugged up he couldn't think straight.

I frowned, confused at that.

"I am your doctor, Edward."

There was a burst of laughter. God the kid was high. I couldn't believe they had given him so much. It wasn't like he was a giant person or anything. He would need half the normal dose. This was totally unnecessary. Obviously whoever had given him the drugs hadn't cared enough to actually measure out his body weight. Another dose of mistreatment had me patting his head with a sympathetic sigh.

"No you're not!" He burst out with a sudden laugh. I didn't try to reason with him too much, because he wasn't thinking straight at all.

"Hey.." He sighed after a moment of silence. "Did I do it? Just tell me. I can take it. Did I fix Al?"

"Uh." I mumbled, "Yes." I assumed that's what he wanted. As it was Alfons was dead. But for some reason I felt like he was speaking to someone behind me. Someone that wasn't me but he still directed his words through me. We were talking to each other and not at the same time and it wasn't just the drugs that was casting a screen between us. The way he said Alfons before had been with a mixture of fondness, sadness and guilt. And while this time it was a mixture of the same emotions it was different in a way I could not explain.

"Oh." He sounded about ready to cry at that and I didn't know that his question had meant that much to him. I watched, alarmed as a small tear gathered in the corner of his eye, "Oh, can I see him?"

"No, Edward. You, you just need to lie still and rest." I told him.

"Yeah, sure, Mustang." He giggled. "Tell me - did you kill him?"

Ah, so that's what it was. The name sent a chill through me and I wasn't sure if I was upset or okay with the fact that he wasn't really talking to me. That he thought he was talking to someone completely different. Someone who apparently was supposed to carry out a hit for him.

"Who, Edward?" I asked, suddenly interested, because despite all the nonsense and bubbles he had been blowing for the past hour or so this seemed serious. Like there was actually something to it. He had expected Mustang to kill someone? I didn't care that I was taking small advantage over the fact that he was doped up. "Who?"

"Pride." He slurred.

Pride? What the hell? I wondered if this was a metaphor. The kid was smart, but I had never thought him capable of speaking in metaphor while drugged.

"Just go to sleep." I told him soothingly, pushing his shoulder back against the bed as he moved to lean towards me but was off balance. He only fought me for a second before groaning a sickly groan and flopping back against the covers. His eyes drooped and snapped back open, before drifting off again and his movements were jerky and drunk as he tried to grab something in the air near his face and must have missed since he tried a few more times.

I took his hand in mine and brought it back down against the covers. His fingers twisted into mine, they were so cold. He stopped trying to grab whatever had been there and I wondered dimly if this was what he had planned all along.

I regarded him suspiciously, but he merely mumbled gibberish to himself for a few minutes, like he had made up his own language, before he was staring back at the light and in a drug induced daze. His eyelids were swollen and red and his gold irises were almost swallowed by his pupils. They were so far dilated I felt sorry for him.

I found my fingers rubbing some warmth back into his hand and I pressed a palm to his forehead. He was running a small fever to. I sighed for a moment before letting go to reach down and grab the heavier blankets I had gotten for him. I spread them out over his body before I took up my position at his side again and took his hand in mine. This time not so much for his benefit as mine.

Yeah. I cared, okay? And maybe I liked him.

I stroked his head soothingly whenever he made small distressed noises. I was sure that whatever he was seeing in that light wasn't comforting. His hair was really soft. I knew that if he was aware he'd probably have punched me away but as it was he couldn't and I could tell he needed someone to hold him a bit.

Yeah, I liked him. He had somehow snuck up on me and got me, and I didn't even know what had really hit me. Before I knew it I was rubbing the back of my hand from his forehead to his cheek and across his lips before I pulled back and resigned myself just to hold his hand and occasionally make small shushing noises whenever he started to tense.

The scary part was I he didn't even try to have me like him. He had acted like a little brat since the first day I had arrived and I had still ended up being intrigued by him.

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I need feedback. Review opinions, please.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Epilogue**

_Represent_

_Author's Note_: I got a really cool review that made me pretty psyched. Anyways, to answer a main question in that, I'll give a little description of what Roy Fischer looks like. She wondered if he had the eye-patch or anything. He doesn't. He has both of his eyes, just as healthy as normal. He smokes, and he wears normal clothing for Germany. He likes his dark coats and his nice shoes, though, and whenever he's in the hospital he is dressed with a white doctor's jacket and various pens. And I'm counting backwards in German for a reason. C: It's not random.

This chapter is not my favorite. But necessary.

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_A great secret of success is to go through life as a man who never gets used up. -- Albert Schweitzer_

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"So how exactly did you think this was going to work?" I asked blandly, viewing him with a bit of amusement as he had another fresh set of bruises upside his face and scattered down his sides. He had been shoved on more drugs, but he wasn't as out of it as before. If anything he just looked disgruntled and in pain.

"Well." He mumbled, "I thought it was worth a try."

It had been a mixture of genius and pure recklessness that had gotten him as far as the front door before he had been shot in the ass with sedative and tackled by fifteen guards, proceeded to getting beat up, and shoved back on his ass in the room.

"You obviously have learned martial arts." I poked.

"Yeah." He grunted.

He had feigned a large pain in his stomach for a half hour until he had gotten a nurse close enough and had gotten her in choke hold, grabbed her keys, unlocked himself, easily overpowered her and slipped out the door where the guards had been - as usual - sleeping, and beyond that apparently he hadn't thought up because he was defeated about three seconds later.

"You do know that because of this little incident your court date has been pushed up." I told him. So in the long run this little flight for freedom had gotten him nothing but a few less days in captivity and a few steps closer to execution.

"Yeah." He grunted again, but it was quieter this time.

I sighed and I sat back, feeling a mixture of emotion. I didn't want him to go to trial, I knew exactly what was going to happen, and to be quite frank he didn't stand a chance against witty prosecutors and hardened judges. He was pretty easy to manipulate when it came to twisting words around because he never did it himself. It wasn't that he was simple-minded. It was that he was honest. And he believed other people were honest.

And that was his downfall. Because this world wasn't honest and the prosecutors didn't give a shit about trying to be fair or trying to be nice and open to him, they only wanted to twist his words around and make him look like the villain they all thought he was.

That I knew he wasn't.

I sighed, glad the guards were always drunk and asleep. Even despite that little attempted escape Edward had the same guards and they had only gotten a cut in pension for the month. You would think that they'd get fired or something, but they had made up some bullshit story about how Edward had tricked them and they had been awake the entire time. So instead of looking incompetent, they had settled for looking stupid and Edward had ended up looking even more devious then he really was.

Well, he was devious and smart, but most of his plans revolved around brute strength and crossed fingers. Which didn't take him very far when it came to the German police system.

He was rubbing his side gingerly. I had already checked it out. He had gotten kicked in the ribs and a few were broken, so he couldn't slump like normal into the pillow, he was having trouble sitting up to a spot that was comfortable and his breathing was a little labored.

"Its in a week." I told him, finally, sympathetic.

He froze and gaped at me and his eyes widened.

"What?" He gasped, "A week?"

They had pushed his date up so fast that it had cost him a three weeks? A month of life, despite being chained to a bed in a hospital. I got up and surprised myself grabbing him gingerly around his broken ribs and I gave him a quick comforting hug, or something that might be considered a hug.

"I looked into your story." I told him softly as he froze there and I eventually released him.

"Oh?" He managed, still pretty glum and thinking pretty deeply about what would happen to him in a week and suddenly, like a veil had been lifted, I knew that it didn't matter what he said or did at the trial next week because I was sure that I was going to get him out of here. And the knowledge that I had decided that before it was okay with myself had me shocked to say the least.

"Yeah. And I believe you." I told him.

That seemed to shock him out of whatever he had been thinking. His head jerked up and his hair flew out of his face and he pinned me with a suspicious glare. I knew that perhaps this was alarming to him. To have your psychologist agree with your delusions.

"Well, I believe that you believe in… your story." I amended and he slumped a bit, winced at the pain, and straightened painfully again. I made a small face of sympathy at him. "And I believe that your father existed. I talked with a few people at the university."

He was silent and his eyes were wide and they started to get wider and wider the more I told him about where I had been and who I had tracked down and I was sure that he realized this was not standard protocol.

"Why?" He asked after a moment, "Why did you do that for me?"

"For you?" I snorted, pulling back from him a bit more because I was tempted to rub his hand or kiss his forehead or something inappropriate and I instead turned back to my papers because they were safe and needed shuffling. "No, I did it for me. I had to make sure I was right about you."

"Right about me?" He asked, a bit annoyed.

"Yes." I said, "About what I said a few days ago - that I didn't think you killed all those people. At least not in your right mind." But I was starting to believe him more and more, about everything. Even the strange parts. Even the bits about the other person that looked like me and about the other world. I didn't want to admit that though, especially not to him, and especially not to myself.

This weird insane urge to keep him and protect him had manifested seemingly overnight but I knew it had been him slowly worming his way into both sides of me. The need to protect and the compassionate part of me. I ruffled his hair fondly and he looked like if he could he would bite my hand off and I smiled. I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Well why would I lie in the first place?" He grumbled.

"Because you were being charged with thirty something murders?" I told him, knowing he wasn't stupid, but sometimes comments like that made he think perhaps I had been wrong.

He shrugged. I wondered if he had ever told a lie in his entire life. Probably, but he didn't seem very good at it and it certainly didn't pop into his mind very often as a legitimate option.

"Tell me about this cult. You mentioned it before."

He shrugged again, "Eckhart was in on it. Wanted Al to make a rocket for her. He didn't even know what he was getting into. None of us did until it was too late."

"They wanted to what? Reach.. Your world?" It was difficult for me to say.

"Yeah." He stated, "Thought it was some sort of utopia. Stupid."

He seemed rather talkative today. I watched as he rubbed his hands together with a soft sigh, which turned into a pained wince and like normal I took a tally mark on the corner of the page. I shifted and watched him more sternly for awhile.

"This cult." I told him, "I believe you."

Mainly because I had heard of it before, and when it came to some of the cults that were popping up in light of this whole war, one dedicated to this sort of thing wasn't that out there. Eckhart was a large political figure though, but she had always had a very strong superiority streak in her. I hadn't been sad at all to find out about her death.

"Thank you." He told me quietly and I glanced up from where I had been writing. I hadn't expected that at all, hadn't expected him to thank me or even say anything to be quite truthful. He had been in deep thought for a few minutes.

"You're welcome." I told him, and gave him what I hoped was a good enough smile. It seemed to make him relax, which was good. He nodded a bit to himself and he tried to lean back, failed, and pushed himself back up with a pained whimper. I frowned reaching forward and grabbing his shoulder, straightening him a bit.

"Do you want some pain medication?" I asked him quietly, a bit concerned. They had beaten him up pretty bad.

He shook his head tightly.

When I had first arrived today I had come on the scene of chaos. Nurses running everywhere and policemen with their guns waving ordering things. It had almost been comical that this little blond had caused all that. I had come into his room and seen him sitting there all innocent and black and blue and I had started to laugh.

Which had not amused Edward or the guards.

I didn't remember laughing very often but I had been doing more of it lately. It was hard not to laugh when you witnessed Edward in all his pathetic pouting glory and the mess he had made of the entire psychiatric ward.

"Those other people, those... Patients." He struggled to find the right word for them and I tilted my head, "Are they criminals?"

"Who?" I asked, not really following.

"I saw a few of them, out there." Edward mumbled, head tilting towards the door out to the hallway, "They were running into walls and screaming things."

Well, I was sure that Edward's own chaotic presence had upset them into trying to go through the wall. They didn't usually do that.

"What about them?" I asked.

"Are they.. You know, like me?"

"Not all of them." I said, watching his reaction curiously. The color had sapped from his face and he had certainly been laboring over them and that question for hours since he had trouble enough wording it. I didn't know why he was so frightened. "Some, yeah, but most of them are here just because they need to people to watch over them and their families can't."

Edward shivered.

"Sometimes.." His eyes were glazed and I leaned a bit closer because he wasn't speaking very loudly, I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or not at this point, "Do you see me like you see them?" He asked suddenly.

"No." I told him. He slumped after he studied my face for a long moment and discerned that I wasn't lying. I had a feeling that wasn't his only question, and I wondered why he cared so much whether I thought he was as demented as some of the other patients on the ward, but either way he seemed relieved.

"Oh." He said weakly.

"You aren't like them." I told him again, like maybe that would help. He still looked pale and nauseous.

"_Yet_." He whispered.

I dimly wondered what Edward had been thinking for the past few weeks. He knew he was on a psychiatric ward after all, so what did he expect when he did his grand escape through the main hallway? Of course there were other mentally handicapped people on this ward. I guess he just hadn't thought about it that much.

His single word made me shiver and I started to piece together what had been making him so uncomfortable lately.

"Do you think you're crazy?" I asked him. I had asked that almost every time that I had come into his room. I had only stopped as of late because I was tired of asking when we both knew it wasn't true.

"No." He replied. He sounded unsure.

This alarmed me. Just when I had settled on the fact that Edward wasn't as crazy as they had tried to make him out to be suddenly he had convinced himself that he was?

"Why are you saying that?" I asked, confused and caught off guard. There were lots of things that Edward did that surprised me, but this was something in another category. It made me sick to my stomach to think that Edward considered himself in a declining state, that soon he would be running into walls.

"I just.." he struggled, "Its stupid." He whispered.

"No, it's not." I pestered.

"I just think sometimes, that, I have no proof you know? And.. Everyone here has always told me that my stories are really great. You know -imaginative. It's just. Sometimes I wonder if I _am_ just making it all up, or what.." He sounded miserable, "I forget at times what my home is like. I think in German. I shouldn't think in German."

I didn't say anything for a moment.

"Its just hard to think straight.." He whispered, "When people keep telling you you're wrong."

I knew that this was the breakthrough that I had been waiting for. And if I had no feelings for him whatsoever I would have pounced on him and taken this little moment of vulnerability for all it was worth. I would have told him that this was because he _was_ making it all up - that he was finally starting to see through his delusions. That maybe from now on he could work on a road of recovery.

All of those words stuck in my throat.

Suddenly I didn't want to be his doctor, I didn't want to tell him that because I didn't believe it myself. I wanted to deny all of it and tell him he wasn't crazy at all. I had been lying the entire time, but that went against everything I stood for. My job, my beliefs, my training. I swallowed them all and I grabbed him by the shoulders because, and don't get me wrong- I had treated hundreds of people before who honestly believed in their illusions and had never had a problem telling them they were wrong - not like now, but I couldn't do it.

He was special, he was different, and while half of his story was strange and unbelievable, I knew that telling him that he was getting better by admitting he thought that he was just imagining his homeland would destroy him. It was the only thing he held onto, the only reason he was still himself. I didn't want to crush him. I loved…him. I did.

And so I settled.

"I'm sorry, Edward." I told him. And I was. And despite my better judgment, I told him that he wasn't crazy. I didn't know if that was admitting that I believed him - because I didn't. Not all of it at least, but I trusted him in a way that I didn't do very often and I couldn't stand the strain and the fear on his face when he thought that he was loosing it.

He sniffed and I wondered if he was crying, but any sign of that was quickly hidden. Edward didn't cry. At least I thought so. He instead straightened a bit and gave a smile that told me he was done being vulnerable and that I was supposed to let go and give him some space and pretend like this never happened. So I did.

I pulled back and I pretended like he hadn't just admitted some sort of deep dark insecurity. I ignored the fact that he had told me that sometimes he thought perhaps I was right - even though it made me feel like shit to know it.

We sat there for a long moment in silence.

"I talked to a woman named Gracia. She said she knew you." I told him, hoping perhaps this would make him happier. I didn't like leaving him so depressed, although that had been happening more and more as of late.

His head moved a bit and I knew he had heard me, I blinked and stared for a moment.

"Gracia?" I asked, as if remembering her name," You saw her?"

"Yeah." I told him, "I went to your apartment. I wanted to find out more." I grinned sheepishly.

"Nosy bastard." He stated, but it was fond.

"She said she hopes you are well." I summarized. A small white lie. She hadn't said that per say but I knew that if she had the chance to tell Edward anything it would have been something along those lines. Edward grinned a bit and glanced up at me. I still had that rose bush to plant that I had bought from her.

"Really?"

"Yes." I said, "I bought a rose bush from her. I told her I was a friend of yours. I hope that's not a lie."

"It's not." He said.

I felt a strange sting of pride swell in me. I shouldn't care so much if we were friends or not, but I did. I grinned at him and he grinned back for a moment and it was almost as if we were conspiring against them all for a moment of dumb stupidity before reality sank back in again and we sighed and looked away at the same time and I cleared my throat.

"So." I trailed off.

He picked at his new blankets I had gotten for him.

"Thanks, they're warmer." He told me distractedly.

"Are you sure you don't want that pain medication?" I asked him.

He shook his head again, but winced as he did so. I knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep. I sighed and I wrote a bit on his papers. I wrote that he was to get mild doses of pain killers throughout the night. I just didn't tell him because I knew he would fight me on it. He had a weird side of him that refused to show weakness. It was frustrating.

But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

I placed his records back on the end of his bed and ignored his suspicious glare.

The whole resolve that I was going to get him out of here ended there. It didn't come with a plan. It didn't come with some sort of money or papers or anything that might make it possible. It was just a strong emotion that was making it difficult to breath and I knew that I had to at least try because Edward was an innocent soul and I was tired of innocent people getting punished.

And Edward was special. To me. And in general. And while I might not believe all of what he says he isn't malicious. A little bizarre and headstrong, but he was kind-hearted and was honest. He was the kind of person that was rare in this world because usually they realized how pointless it was to believe in things like truth and justice in a world so corrupt and they gave up. Edward hadn't.

And it made me want to hoard him away and try to preserve that. Or at least give him a chance.

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I need feedback. Review opinions, please.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Whooo. Haven't updated this for a long time. Sorry about that, guys. Like a year. LOL. I doubt anyone is still following this story anymore. Sorry, not much Edward and Roy interaction here. I promise there will be more in the next chapter. If I ever get around to writing that... hahaha...

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"Edward is such a nice boy." Gracia stated softly, swirling her tea. Her eyes glanced out to the dismal street from her small apartment window. She was leaning against the counter near her sink and her expression was pained and thoughtful. As a mother would reminisce about a son that they had lost.

I took a quick sip of the coffee she had poured me upon forcing me to sit down and make myself comfortable. There was still a underlying sense of unease when she had seen me walking up the way, but apparently she trusted me enough to let me inside.

"He would never kill all those people." She whispered, "Never."

I made a small noise of agreement.

"You're apartment is impeccable, Gracia." I stated softly. It was truth. Gracia's small abode was humble at best, but it was cleaned and kept tidy. There were small plants that hung around the windows, desperately attempting to snatch up whatever light the dim city outside offered them. Despite the poor living conditions they were blooming quite well. Probably a token to how much care Gracia put into her things. Into her house, her plants, her business, and apparently the boys that lived upstairs.

"Please, Mr. Fischer.-" She turned slightly, her face hardening a bit.

"You can call me Roy." I told her.

"Roy, then." She continued after a brief pause to examine me, "Please, don't take me for an ignorant widow." She sucked in a quick breathe, "Please don't patronize me. I need to know the truth."

I was silent for a moment, watching the plants near her face with extreme interest as Gracia stepped closer, her voice lowering.

"Please, I know that you and Edward were not old friends. I know this, but I told you about him anyways because, because if you were a detective you would have been less discreet. I don't care what relation you are to him, but if you know how he is, I need to know. I need to know what is going to happen to him. Please tell me the truth."

She paused and took in a quick breath, her beautiful blue eyes filled with fear and concern. Despite her hardened resolve her hand was shaking slightly. I could read her quite easily. In fact I could read most people quite easily. There was only one person that was more complex than I had ever encountered and he was currently strapped to a bed back at the hospital.

I looked away from her and cleared my throat.

"I'm the senior doctor charged to Edward's case." I told her truthfully. Gracia was smart. If she wasn't smart she wouldn't have been able to sell her flowers right out on the street to beggars and sinners and Nazi's and not get arrested. She obviously knew more than I had originally accessed, that was obvious in the way she had seen right through me.

"Doctor?" Gracia questioned instantly, "Is he hurt?"

"Not… particularly." I told her lowly, frowning a little, "He was beat up from guards, but to be quite honest that was mostly his fault. He has quite the mouth."

Gracia ran a hand through her hair at that with a patronized smile and slumped into the chair next to me. "Tell me everything." She demanded, grabbing my hand. I paused, glancing down at it, and a year ago perhaps I would have taken advantage of this. Not advantage, to be sure, I was not a lecherous old man. But the feeling of a young attractive single woman grabbing onto my hand wouldn't have gone as unnoticed as it did in this moment.

Perhaps it was because this conversation was so grave, about someone that we both cared about – admittedly in new and different ways. Perhaps it was because a year ago I had never once questioned my sexuality. I wasn't sure. Not anymore. And this was a little bit jarring to come to grips with.

"Edward was sent into my care after being transferred to the psychiatric ward. He is convinced he is innocent because while the murders had taken place he had been in an alternate universe. Naturally, they sent him to me."

"You're a psychiatrist?" Gracia asked softly.

"Yes." I answered easily, "However, after diagnosing him for the past week or two I've come to the conclusion that.. he is, however disillusioned about certain details of his alibi, not responsible for their deaths."

Gracia was silent for a moment before she gave a soft smile and looked down at the table before back up at me. I frowned softly as I watched her take all this in, seeing her slump a little in relief to know that Edward wasn't being treated harshly. That he wasn't dead – yet.

"It doesn't matter what I think. They will have me go up and testify that he is a psychopath, even I know that he isn't. Already his ties with England is enough to put him in danger. You and I both know that once you're charged with something in this country there's no fair trial."

"I'm sorry, Roy." Gracia stated after a moment, shifting a bit and removing her hand, "I'm struggling to understand why you are telling me this."

"I have grown fond of Edward." I admitted, looking away for a moment. Perhaps fond was a strange word for how he felt for the kid. "And I grow weary of innocent people being executed. I plan on leaving the country."

I left that sentence trailing as I turned my attention back to Gracia who was watching me suspiciously.

"You mean to tell me..?" She trailed off and I nodded sharply once, knowing now that we were both on the same page about what my plans were. About why I was here. Why I was speaking with her.

"Do you love him?" She asked softly after a moment. I jolted a little at that, my gaze snapping up at her and my eyes narrowing. Instantly I felt, like a snake coiling in me, the desire to shove her away and to deny it all. To laugh at her and tell her I cared for Edward like a son, or perhaps a brother. However, I swallowed. Gracia was much more intuitive than I had previously though.

"I do not know." I answered shortly. I really didn't. It was strange for me to admit something like that, out loud.

There was a brief strange silence in which Gracia had pressed herself back against her chair and was watching me through clear blue eyes. She then got up in a small wuff of her petticoat and grabbed the coffee from my hand. I frowned and watched as she dumped the rest out and for a icy moment I thought perhaps I had been wrong to trust her with something like this. Doubts manifested in me when she didn't look at me, when she washed the cup calmly. Did she not approve of the thought of how I felt for Edward? Was she going to rat me out now? Had she been playing me the entire time?

These thoughts were dark in my head, but I didn't tense in my seat. I remained loose, leaning against the table slightly and draped over the chair as I watched her, waiting.

She turned after a moment and grabbed something out of her apron.

"I will help you." She told me softly, her voice not quivering. She came forward to me and smiled a kindly smile that made my doubts lessen as I watched her grab my hand and place something small and cold into it.

"Are you sure?" I asked, turning my palm around and sparing a glance down at what she had placed in there. A small key ring. There was two keys on it, one to what looked like a house and the other a car.

"I can't stand sitting by and watching people I care about get killed. I've lost so many." She whispered, her eyes flitting to a photo on a shelf. I assumed that she was referring to her husband. I didn't need to ask what happened to him, I knew that he was dead – and that this whole war was the cause.

"Please, tell Edward I send my regards." She smiled, "I will take you up to his apartment but after I show you his door I have to ask that you never come back."

"Of course." I told her, slipping the keys into my pocket. I knew that this was the last time I was ever going to contact her again, at least until this war was over. The more times I came around here the more I risked getting caught. The more I risked her getting caught. The stakes were always high, and no matter what I did, I was always at risk of drawing too much attention to myself.

She nodded softly and she moved to grab her coat before there was a sharp rap at the door and I instantly stood up. There was a brief moment of panic on her face and we exchanged a silent little scheming understanding before she took in a deep breath and composed herself.

"Linen closet." Gracia whispered so soft I almost didn't hear it and I quickly moved down the hallway and into the closet, closing the door behind me and slinking into the fresh-smelling towels. I was blinded at the moment, straining my ear to hear her open the door.

"Good day, Miss Gracia."

There was the sound of sharp clinking steps. Military boots. I knew the sound anywhere. I tried to look through the crack of the door but couldn't see anything except the expanse of Gracia's white hallway and the dimly lit watercolor of some flowers hanging across the way.

"Hello, Lieutenant Hughes." Gracia's voice lifted softly. She was a wonderful actress. I heard the door shut and then the shuffle of linen.

"I thought I would just drop by and see if you were okay." Came the gruff voice, "You know, before I finish my rounds."

"I am quite fine, Maes." Gracia answered, humor in her voice. "Although I appreciate your concern. Would you like something to drink?"

There was a pause as if Lt. Hughes weighed how long it might take to drink and calculated that it would take too long. Instead he walked once around her small kitchen and took in a deep breath.

"No thank you, Gracia." He stated, "I heard you speaking with someone as I came up the stairs. Who were you talking to?" His tone was casual, but the underlying threat was still there. If Gracia was afraid she didn't let it show in her voice.

"I was just speaking with my sister." Gracia stated softly, "On the telephone. You just missed her. It seems that a rain is coming."

"Really." Hughes asked.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Because the voice seemed male, and very much present in this apartment."

"Well then, Maes. I do not have a reason for why you were hearing that. I have no one else in this apartment besides myself and my flowers. You know this quite well."

My eyes narrowed at that insinuation and the soft reproach in her voice.

"I don't wish anything to happen to you Gracia, but you keep my job hard when you sell to all those gypsies down the street and now this? I can't keep ignoring your crimes, it goes against my vows."

"Oh, Maes." Gracia hushed, and I instantly knew what this relationship was. My mouth twisted into a small smirk despite myself, "You know that I don't wish to put you in any sort of trouble. I just need the money so I sell to them. Times are very tough for me, no one wants to buy flowers anymore…"

She was practically purring and there was a soft shift of feet, I read it as Hughes' defenses crumbling a little. He was stepping back a little in the wake of her flirting. He obviously loved her quite a lot to risk his life to protect her. Suddenly it was no wonder that Gracia had missed detection for so long. Especially with Edward's capture from this very apartment building.

"Please, Hughes. I could barely afford groceries this week. Not only that, but its so unbearably cold this season. All my roses are dying."

"Yes I know, but it could be much worse for you if you were to go to jail, Gracia." Hughes snapped.

"I know." Gracia whined imploringly, "Don't you have other people to bother now?"

Hughes paused, and, after what I assumed was consulting his pocket-watch he consented to this suggestion. Not after pacing around the kitchen one more time.

"Right." He stated, voice clipped with military precision, "Please try to be more subtle. I don't wish to arrest you, but I will if necessary. Consider this a warning."

"Thank you, Maes." Gracia stated smoothly, "For being so understanding."

She had this soldier around her little finger. He listened to Hughes' grunt of approval before the door shut and the clicking of his boots moved down the staircase and eventually faded. I waited a few minutes before the closet door was pulled open and Gracia was giving me a very exhausted look with her hand on her hip and her lips pursed.

I pulled myself out of the closet gingerly, putting back the washcloths and linens that had toppled when I had climbed inside. I turned then, following her back out into the kitchen.

"So, Lt. Hughes." I stated simply.

"He fancies me." Gracia said just as short and simple back to me as she grabbed her coat again and peered out the window, making sure the soldier had left down the street for his rounds. "It is fortunate, I suppose, that I have an enemy like Maes Hughes."

"You will be okay, after I leave?" I asked after a moment, unsure anymore of Gracia's immunity to this war, to being arrested, to getting in trouble for helping Edward and me.

She sent me a very patronizing look and turned after a moment as if that question wasn't even worth her time as she grabbed her hat and smashed it over her hair and pulled it down over her face.

"Hughes' threats are laughable." She stated after a moment, "He is harmless. Follow me, Alfons' apartment is this way."

I was unsure suddenly if this was a good idea. I was sure that they had combed his apartment through and through, everything had been documented and picked through. Sure enough, when we reached the door and I unlocked it, stepping inside, the whole place was trashed.

Gracia cast one look at the mess and gave a soft frown.

"This is where we part, Mr. Fischer." She stated after a moment. "I really hope that you can pull this off. I would hate to think of the alternative."

I didn't dwell on the alternative all that much. Images of Edward's body with holes slicing through his head and blood splattered against cold pavement, of my own imprisonment, of a similar fate awaiting me. I didn't have a choice anymore. I had made the choice to try and escape – and there was no longer the option of failing. That door had closed.

"Take care of yourself, Gracia." I told her softly, "Thank you."

She nodded once, before moving back down the stairs stealthily. I closed the door, and as I swung it and it clicked heavily in place the silence of the trashed apartment was stifling. The hustle and bustle of the street was effectively cut out and I was left alone with piles and piles of belongings strewn about as if someone had vomited it all on the floor.

My fingers immediately went along the molding of the front door, heart pounding for a moment, unsure if they had placed anything in the door to tell if someone had entered this apartment without permission. I found nothing, and gave a soft sigh, pushing myself up after a moment wearily. I paused for maybe a moment before I pushed my bangs out of my face a bit and I unwrapped the scarf from around my neck.

"Okay..." I stated softly to myself, frowning and turning. I took in the mess of the apartment slowly before picking my way through the wreckage. I wound my way up a narrow set of stairs to the bedrooms and found what I assumed was Alfons'. There was littering papers of rockets and aerospace theories. Books and clothing were strewn everywhere. I paused for a brief moment, wondering exactly what Alfons had been like, wondering exactly what he had been to Edward. What kind of a person he was to capture Edward's attention. I didn't quite understand it. I knew that Alfons had been a rocket scientist. Exceptionally intelligent. Other than that I had no clue, no insight into what exactly had happened.

I paused for a moment, sifting through his things, coming across a photograph of three people. I immediately recognized Edward on the left. There was a woman that I had never met in the middle with long wavy brown hair and reproachful eyes. Her clothing suggested a gypsy. On the right there was a young man, I assumed this was Alfons Heidrich. He was smiling serenely and had his arm wrapped around the young woman's shoulders. His hair was short and cropped, face youthful and round in a way that reminded me of Edward and at the same time was much too soft to be related. His eyes were startlingly light and he was leaning almost through the woman and into Edward. The young man in question wasn't smiling. He seemed thoughtful and almost grudging. His jaw was set and guarded and his hair was combed and pulled back. It was very becoming of him. I had never seen his hair brushed, much less pulled back out of his face.

I pocketed the picture, knowing that Edward would enjoy it, making note to ask him about the woman in it. I hoped he wouldn't be angry at me for poking through his things. I left Alfons' room and went down the hall a little bit into Edward's. I had to be. I could practically smell the mystery of his presence in the walls. The room was a mess, mirroring the rest of the house, but it had the distinct precise impression that it hadn't looked much better before soldiers had rifled through everything. I didn't know what had been taken. I was sure that most of his things had been confiscated, burned, or stowed away as evidence. It felt extremely personal to be in this room. I almost turned around and left, but I paused. I gathered a few of his clothes, noting how plain they were. How much of a contradiction they were to his personality. I tucked them into a small suitcase that was under the bed. V. Hohenheim was inscribed on the side.

I pulled the suitcase up and leaned it against the wall, pausing before looking over his desk. There wasn't much there, letters, anagrams... I suspected that there had been a lot more here, but it had been taken. I picked up some of the letters, they were all addressed to different people. To Alphonse, and Alfons. I was unsure what this meant. I put them down, feeling like it was too personal to read them, they weren't addressed tome. I shifted through the pile, there was a letter to a girl named Winry. I wondered briefly if that was the same young woman that was in the photo, but I didn't read that as well. I only paused when I got to a letter addressed to myself. My name scrawled in Edward's simple yet somehow elegant handwriting.

I frowned, scanning the letter, knowing, deep down, this wasn't meant for me to read. It was disturbing to see hard evidence that Edward believed so whole-heartedly in this other world. That, before he had ever met me, he had some kind of relationship with another person under my name name. It couldn't just be coincidence. I placed the letter back down and took in a quick breath, wanting so much to read it, knowing Edward would be extremely betrayed if he knew I had. I had gotten what I came here for, clothes. I needed to leave.

I straightened up before I could give into the temptation and I snatched the letters up off of the table, shoving them into the suitcase as well. I didn't know if Edward had been planning on sending them, but I felt that he should at least have them should we ever get out of this alive.

Slowly a plan was forming in my head, a crazy ridiculous plan. One that perhaps wouldn't work. But a plan never the less. And if there was one thing I was good at, it was making elaborate plans.


End file.
